The Eleventh Hour
by Saxyad18
Summary: They are out of time and resources and nearly out of hope. Even with all the odds stacked against them, can Fitz and Simmons still find their way back to each other before it's too late? A continuation of the Season 3 premier.
1. Breaking Point

A/N: I absolutely should be working on Retrograde and Potential Limitations, but that final scene just begs for some kind of continuation before next week, so here we are. This story won't be too terribly long (maybe 4 or 5 chapters and about 8,000 words overall). I have a probably farfetched idea for how FitzSimmons might be reunited. I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

Chapter 1: Breaking Point

* * *

The figure stalks her ceaselessly, its sole purpose to end her existence. Sometimes it appears almost spectral; other times it is clearly as solid as the rock that surrounds her. She's never remained near enough to it to gain more than a vague understanding of its basic corporal outline, and she hopes to keep it that way even as her muscles grow weary and her breath settles into the panicked, wheezing gasps that have become her new normal. Her clothes are ragged and stained, her face, bloodied and pinched with exhaustion, and her hope, waning by the second. She's learned to survive on little food or water and even less sleep. She's become a master of concealment, but she is certain that she will not be able to maintain this constant flight response for much longer, and it is clear to her that whatever meager fight she might have in her will not be enough to survive a confrontation with her unknown pursuer.

Even undercover at Hydra, she never experienced this level of constant terror and dread. Even facing the near certainty of Fitz's demise as she furiously treaded water and prayed for a miracle, she never felt this defeated or vulnerable. She has spent the last several months of her existence fleeing across the desolate wasteland of this far flung celestial body, desperate to avoid detection and capture. She has experienced far too many close calls, but, though her body presses her to give into her now apparently inevitable death in this forgotten corner of the universe, her mind is still firmly convinced of her eventual rescue if she can just survive long enough. Though this is beyond what either of them ever studied alone or in tandem, she is sure he will be able to tease out the riddle and put together the pieces of this convoluted puzzle. She cannot afford to lose hope in that belief because it has been her only comfort over the lonely months.

Hearing the faint but steady crunch of an approaching figure's feet on the rocky terrain, she continues her haphazard flight from certain death should she stay. Her lungs and legs burn from the effort, but she does not stop until she can safely hide behind the cover of one of the rock formations dotting the landscape. A sharp sting on her forehead prompts her to touch the skin just above her eyebrow. Sighting fresh blood on her grimy fingertips, she frantically digs into the soil like a dog to reach the moist ground buried inches below the surface. Smearing the gritty mud on her face, she huffs out a breath as the terror and isolation threaten to overwhelm her.

At least with the wound covered, she will make it that much more difficult for the figure to find her amidst the peaked ground. She learned early in her days on this planet that blood attracted the figure's attention more quickly than noise or any other sign of her presence. She's been careful to keep her myriad injuries tended as best she can given her utter lack of resources. Running across rutted terrain in shoes and clothing in no way up to the task has caused her more injuries than she would care to count, though she's certainly lighter on her feet than she ever has been. She hardly ever falls now, though she does tend to cut corners too close, resulting in scrapes and bruises that never seem to heal or fade.

At the sound of the ceaseless treading growing louder, she realizes that her brief respite must come to an end. Sucking in one last breath, she returns to her weary feet and resumes scuttling over the jagged ground and darting to and fro between the stubby peaks that have become her only source of true refuge. She has to scramble back to her feet after her right calf seizes into a debilitating cramp, and she worries that she may not have enough in her after all as the ache settles deep in her muscle.

* * *

While she struggles for survival, he spends nearly ever-waking moment wracking his mind for ideas and pursuing even the most tangential and ludicrous leads. The others may have given up on her, but he never will. Whatever inhibitions he might have had before, whatever sense of right and wrong, he has willingly thrown them aside in the interest of saving her. No price is too high, no demand too repulsive. Love, after all, has being making people ignore their better judgment for millennia. Who is he to break that pattern?

When his tireless search ends in heartbreak, he thinks he will never be able to cope with the reality of her loss. At first, he is mute as he staggers from the pain of the gaping hole Coulson's words tear in his soul. Even as the apparently useless scroll flutters to the floor, all he can see is the character for death, almost as if it has been seared permanently onto his retinas. As the weight of his devastating grief threatens to break him, he finds one last reserve by drawing on the vast torrents of rage rushing through his mind. Heedless of the consequences, he stalks through the base, snatching a rifle from the weapon stores with only one goal in mind.

His determined pace doesn't slow until he finally stands in front of the door concealing the object that has made the last few months a living hell for him. Stomping in the door and blasting the container with two shots does nothing to lessen his fury. In what world, under the purview of what greater beings, was it just for her life to have been snatched so abruptly away? For the two of them to be torn apart in this manner? For their story, which had once been so vibrant and joyful, to end like this, in heartbreak and devastation?

Tossing the rifle carelessly aside, he does what he has wanted to do for months, and most especially since finally having to face her end. He pulls open the last barrier and dares the monolith to shift—all but begs it to take him too—because he has never wanted to live in a world where she doesn't, and the reality of such a world is too much for him to bear.

He eventually screams himself hoarse and falls to the ground in agony, though he never stops ineffectually beating the stone with his hands even long after his voice finally fails. They find his lanky form curled up against the monolith hours later, salty lines trailing down his cheeks and rust-colored blood covering his abused knuckles and palms. When he opens his eyes as Mack carries his limp form back to his room, they all realize that their greatest fear has come to pass. In losing her, they've also lost him. He looks but he does not see. He breathes, but lives only in the most basic sense of the word. The light has gone from his form, and none of them think it will ever shine with any sense of brilliancy even if he can regain it.

* * *

A/N: I'll post the second (and maybe the third) chapter tomorrow. Thanks for reading!


	2. Last Ditch

A/N: Fitz puts his crazy scheme into action, but did he solve the puzzle in time?

* * *

Chapter 2: Last Ditch

* * *

He allows himself to wallow in his grief and misery for two complete days. He responds to no outside stimuli. No food tempts him. No conversation inspires his interest. No touch prompts a reaction. He is numb to the outside world as he tries and fails to make sense of the chaos of his mind. Finding her has been his sole focus for so long that he has no idea what to do with himself now that the undertaking has ended and no desire to find out. He knows she would want him to find refuge and comfort in their team, but he can't bring himself to let them in. They abandoned her, and any words they might offer, any gestures they might make, will be meaningless to him. He's furious that they ceased trying to find her because they thought it was hopeless, furious that they were apparently right in the end, but his grief is too strong for even that fury to emerge. He simply sits, staring blankly at a wall as he runs his thumb across the sweater he stole from her room weeks ago. It still smells faintly of her, and he's determined to hold it until her scent fades completely. It's one of his tangible reminders that she was part of his world.

By the end of the second day, he is still mostly numb to the world around him, but his brain has quieted. The mind can only process so many emotions before it too becomes effectively blind, overloaded from swirling confusion. In this place of uneasy and false composure, he reflects on his final theory about the monolith. All of his research pointed to one somewhat plausible explanation: the monolith must act as a containment mechanism for a black hole capable of warping space-time.

His early experiments and examinations proved incontrovertibly that Simmons wasn't in the stone itself, which led Fitz to develop the theory that it must send its victims somewhere. People don't just disappear into nothingness. Simmons said it herself at the bottom of the ocean. According to the first law of thermodynamics, no energy in the universe is ever created or destroyed. He is convinced that it had to have transported her or at least some part of her elsewhere.

All that she was, her body, her—even now he can't stomach the word corpse in the same sentence with her name; she or some part of her is somewhere. They only have to figure out where. She didn't just cease to exist. He refuses to believe this alien rock has the power to defy the laws of physics any more than it already has. If nothing else, they owe it to her, to her parents, and honestly to him too to recover whatever remains. She deserves a proper burial, and he won't rest until he has definitive proof that they can't give her one. This will be his last gift to her.

Spurred by this new mission even with the burden of grief still his constant companion, he finally breaks free of the fugue state that has taken over his body. Limbs stiff, he hobbles to the shared bathroom to splash water on his face. His bloodless lips and bloodshot eyes don't inspire much confidence. He's going to need help to pull off his plan, and he knows he won't convince anyone if he still looks like little more than a zombie.

* * *

Days pass before he finally wears down Coulson's reserves to the point that he agrees to this one final request on Simmons's behalf, but the director makes it perfectly clear to Fitz that this attempt will be the end. They don't have the personnel or the resources to spare with new Inhumans cropping up and the threat of unknown enemies on the horizon.

Throwing everything he knows and every resource he can find, borrow, or procure (in some cases through less than savory means) into this eleventh hour attempt, Fitz finally unlocks the combination of environmental factors and external triggers that prompt the monolith to liquefy. Even as he succeeds in surmounting this first hurdle, he can't help but wish that causing the reaction had been enough to bring her back. He has little confidence that the next stage of his plan will actually work.

Simmons would probably have a conniption if she knew about his plans for the DWARFs, but they in addition to a small rover he's cobbled together are his only resources at this point. As much as he would love to simply jump headfirst into the whirling alien substance, he knows Mack will restrain him before he moves a foot and Coulson will call the whole thing off. He owes it to her to give this attempt his best effort, and he won't jeopardize it by giving into the desire to join her.

It's an extremely long shot, but now that he has stabilized the reaction and can keep the monolith in a perpetual state of movement, which should keep the portal open, he is going to try sending the rover and a few of the DWARFs through. The rover will remain linked to monitoring equipment on their side of the black hole via cables connected to a receiving device bolted to the floor. Of course, his whole plan is predicated on his belief about what the monolith is or does. If he is wrong, he's about to sacrifice two of the devices he and Jemma had spent countless hours perfecting for nothing. Well, maybe not nothing, he realizes. They had built them together, and the two he has chosen will experience her journey and join her wherever she is. It seems fitting in a way that if they are separated, the DWARFs should be as well.

He holds his breath as he sends though the rover and the drones, both of which are equipped with audio and visual recording apparatuses as well as scanning sensors. If the universe is willing to play along with his harebrained scheme, the drone will be able to relay their readings and recordings to the rover, which will then transmit them back through the portal across the cables. He has no proof and absolutely no reason to believe the information relay will work, but it's his only option, so he's willing to chance it.

* * *

They all wait with bated breath as the tablet display in Fitz's hand continues to show and broadcast nothing but static. Just when they are all about to give up hope, a grainy picture begins to emerge. The quality is atrocious, but it's clear that they are looking at something otherworldly.

"Holy shit!" Bobbi exclaims, stunned that Fitz is right and worried that they could have discovered this approach much sooner if they all hadn't given up hope of finding their teammate.

The image splits as the drones separate to scan the terrain and report back their findings. One stays within one thousand meters of the rover, which doesn't move beyond the pulsating stone on the other end of the black hole. The second drone flits easily across the barren landscape, scanning for any sign of life.

Fitz keeps his eyes glued to the screen, trusting Mack to ensure the portal stays stabilized. He can't bear to look away, especially now that the initial readings indicate that the environment, while not particularly habitable, isn't technically hostile to human life. The mixture of gasses, though a little higher in Oxygen, will meet a human's respiratory needs, and the presence of moisture in the ground indicates some source of water. Whether or not there is food or some other source of nutrition is not immediately apparent, but it is possible that someone could survive here at least for a short amount of time.

The substandard quality of the images prevent them from seeing any of the finer details, but it's clear from what they can make out of the horizon that their missing teammate didn't end up anywhere in their galaxy. No combination of stars, planets, or other heavily bodies in the Milky Way would produce that kind of horizon. Beyond knowing that she isn't in their galaxy, they have no idea where she might be.

For more than an hour, they watch the blurry feed, tensing a few times as the video begins to cut out. The DWARFs' data becomes increasingly erratic as the dust floating through the air covers their sensors. Only the audio and video feeds remain mostly consistent. The world, wherever it is, is preternaturally silent. The slightest whisper of wind occasionally sounding from the speakers is their only indication that the audio feed continues to function.

Though impressed with this feat of engineering and ingenuity, Coulson is about to call the search to an end after they wait for another hour when what looks to be a dark shadow against one of the surface's peaked masses appears on the screen. Fitz stops breathing entirely when the drone finally reaches the protrusion and the curled form of something resembling a human emerges from an alcove in the rock face.

Though the clothing is tattered and covered in grey dust and dirt, the items are unmistakably Jemma's, and the form, though curled in on itself, bears a striking resemblance to the body of their teammate.

"Oh my god, Fitz," Skye breathes, too stunned to speak any louder, "you found her."

The others can only watch in amazement as the drone circles the prone figure of their lost teammate. Their joy is short-lived as they watch the video for any sign of movement. She looks entirely too still and no matter how close the drone flies, they can't confirm that she is breathing. The sensors are too compromised to provide any reliable biometric data. With only the grainy video feed to guide them, they all come to the conclusion that Simmons has succumbed, though for what reason they can't say.

At least, Fitz thinks, he can take her back to her mum and her dad. He knows she would want that. Just as he attempts to push back his grief again at the confirmation that she had perished because they'd waited too long to discover this solution, the drone picks up the first sound other than the wind.

* * *

A/N: What on earth could the sound be? Stick around for the next chapter to find out. I'm hopeful that I can get that one out to all of you tomorrow.


	3. Final Stand

A/N: With Fitz leading the way, Jemma feels like she may finally be able to leave the nightmare her life has become, but she is not out of danger yet.

* * *

Chapter 3: Final Stand

* * *

Finally too weary to continue running, she curls in on herself in a niche in one of the outcroppings. She never sleeps in the same place twice, but she'll hate to lose this recess. It protects her from the wind, and she feels far more concealed from the figure than she usually does. Still, she buries her face in her arms and pulls her legs in as close to her chest as she can to muffle the sound of her breathing and distort her shape into something more closely resembling a small boulder than a human being.

She's only just slipped into an uneasy sleep when a familiar sound invades her mind. She's no stranger to hallucinations now, but this sound seems entirely too real to be imagined and it makes her chest ache in ways none of the other hallucinations ever have. She would know the sound of those rotary blades anywhere. There were months that she and Fitz spent more time with the DWARFs and each other than with other people. The quiet whirring of the blades had become a soothing source of white noise in their lab. She doesn't realize until this moment how much she has missed that sound, but she knows very well how much she misses their co-creator.

Before she can help herself, she whimpers his name. She tries never to say it out loud because it only makes her want to curl into a ball and cry, and she doesn't have time for tears here.

Fitz's heart nearly stops when he hears her voice, and he tears his gaze away from the screen only for a few seconds to lock eyes with several of his teammates. The shock and barely contained relief in their expressions tell him what he needs to know: they had heard that tiny, forlorn voice too. He hadn't imagined it. Simmons is still alive.

He has to force himself not to yell as he attempts answer her call. He had installed a rudimentary speaker on the drone, and now is the time to see if it, like the input features, is working as well. He's disheartened to realize after calling her name softly and then more than a bit desperately several times that either he didn't manage to calibrate the feature correctly or the black hole is somehow interfering with the transmission. Truthfully, it could be a bit of both, but the most pressing issue is that he has no way to catch her attention.

At first at a loss as to how to proceed, he eventually decides to manually override the drone's proximity sensor to force it to bump into Simmons's crossed arms. Normally, they would never want the drones to touch anything, but Simmons isn't just anything after all. Since he can't speak, he has to resort to a different way of communicating with her. He just hopes she realizes what he is doing. If she does, maybe they haven't fallen as out of sync with each other as he fears. If she doesn't, well that does even warrant consideration. He has to believe that his new plan will work.

She freezes immediately at the feeling of cold metal on her bared skin. She can't remember the last time she touched something other than rock or dirt. At first she is afraid that the figure has somehow caught her unaware. Usually, she hears the plodding steps long before it can reach her, but maybe her exhaustion has finally dulled her senses to the point that they are useless.

She's nearly ready to accept her imminent demise when she realizes that the nudging has a pattern. She still doesn't raise her head or move in any way, but she focuses her attention on the pattern. It has to repeat a few times before she realizes it is a sluggish version of Morse Code. .- . - - .- .- . - - .- .- . - - .- Jemma. Jemma. Jemma, it says.

Fitz is nearly ready to start tearing out his hair as the drone's rhythmic nudging seems to prompt no response from Jemma when she suddenly unfolds her form and looks directly into the camera of the hovering drone.

Her eyes are wide with confusion, her face is mottled with bruises and caked with mud, and her hair is a frazzled mess, but she's still the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

* * *

She tentatively reaches out one hand to gently touch the bottom of the drone. As far as hallucinations go, this is the most convincing one yet. Nothing else has ever seemed quite this corporeal.

Her voice is husky from disuse. On any other day, she wouldn't chance alerting the figure to her presence by speaking, and it isn't as though she's swimming in conversational partners here anyway. Still, with this reminder of the life she may never have again nearly sitting in the palm of her hand, she can't help but speak. If she remains mute, she may lose what little of her sanity remains. She needs to remember that she used to be something more than prey—that her life was filled with something other than ceaseless running and evasion. Then again, if she has resorted to speaking with imaginary flying machines, perhaps her sanity has long since left her.

The team stills all movement, straining to hear the slightly distorted audio as she begins to speak.

"Hello, Bashful," she rasps. "You're an awfully long way from home, aren't you? Rather like me, I suppose. I'm happy to see you, of course, it's quite lonely here, but you might be the strangest thing I've imagined yet. If Fitz," her voice catches on his name, "were here, he'd never let me hear the end of it."

Even at the risk of revealing her location to her pursuer, she continues talking to the small drone as if it can hear her. She can feel herself descending into madness, but she's so starved for interaction with something other than the rocky terrain that she constantly traverses that she continues on despite the danger to her psyche. Her words begin to take on a painfully remorseful tone as she resumes speaking.

"If you see him again, tell him I'm sorry. Tell him I miss him and wish it had all ended differently. Tell him he's more than that too." She sucks in a deep breath before falling silent, her gaze never wavering. She's afraid if she looks away, the drone will be gone and she'll be alone again. Even a hallucinatory robotic friend is better than no friend at all.

On the other end of the universe, Fitz struggles to remain upright. Hearing her voice after suffering through its absence for so long is like taking in a full breath of air for the first time in months. The knot that has taken hold in his chest finally begins to loosen, but his eyes brim with tears as he hears the longing and grief in her tone and realizes that she truly believes that Bashful is only a figment of her imagination. Apparently, he is not the only one to suffer hallucinations when stressed and isolated. More determined than ever to end her undeserved banishment, he redoubles his efforts to make her understand the truth and what he needs her to do next.

* * *

She's amused when Bashful begins to nudge at her still outstretched hand again. Knowing what is likely to happen, she begins paying attention to the nudging much sooner than before. How clever of her imagination to include this element. She and Fitz had learned early in their friendship at the Academy that many of their lectures were only bearable if they could pass notes back and forth. Of course, two prodigies couldn't just pass physical or even electronic notes; that would be far too passé and predictable. Instead, they'd taught themselves Morse Code because it left no trace of their messages, they could tap out responses on each other's hands or legs without anyone being the wiser, and it was a challenge to pay attention to the patterns as well as the lecture without missing content in either. Clearly, they both thrived on a challenge.

At first, the only message is the words "I am here" repeated over and over again. She almost addresses Bashful again when the message shifts. Her eyes widen as she mentally translates the new code: "portal open". Fitz has a hard time concentrating on inputting the correct commands to finish relaying what he wants to tell her next. All he wants to do is stare into her eyes as the reality of the situation finally starts to dawn on her.

Soon enough a tentative smile begins to grace her face. Her cheeks almost immediately protest the movement. She hasn't smiled in months, and the movement feels unnatural, but she's can't stop, especially as Bashful nudges the final pieces of the message into her palm: "Follow drone. Come home."

Finally finding her voice again, Jemma calls out to him with a quiver of barely constrained delight in her voice: "Fitz!?"

"Yes, yes, yes," the drone nudges. When she realizes that she probably isn't hallucinating and Fitz is really somewhere controlling this wayward drone, she wants to clutch it in an embrace because it's the closest she's been to him in months. Wisely, she resists the temptation.

This drone may be her last hope, after all. She had initially waited by the portal for a few days, hoping for a quick rescue, but she'd had to abandon her stakeout when the figure had first appeared. Ever since then, she's been on the run, and she's had little time to establish bearings to find the twin monolith again. If Fitz really is controlling this drone, she trusts him to lead her back to it. If she really is hallucinating it, she'll be grateful for the reprieve from her usual routine of flee and hide.

* * *

She manages to follow the little drone for nearly two hours without issue. Within minutes, Fitz catches on to her preference for staying out of sight and avoiding large open spaces and adjusts the drone's parameters accordingly. Her preferences elongate the journey a little, but he finds that he can maintain at least some sense of patience with the promise of seeing her again soon. Keeping the camera focused on her even as the drone leads the way, he watches in fascination as she scrabbles over jutting slabs and slides down hills of pebbles with considerably more skill and grace than he'd ever know her to have. He doesn't have much time to consider her newly developed talents when he notices her freeze and tense suddenly.

Without any warning she breaks into a run, rushing past Bashful without any care as to if she is still on course to reach the open portal or not. Fitz wonders about her abrupt change for only a moment before he hears the faint, steady thumping of what must be something else's footsteps in between the sound of Jemma's rapid strides.

"I can't let it catch me, Fitz. Not now. Push Bashful to his limits," she directs, hoping he can still hear her and understand the words as she begins to breathe heavily. "I can keep up. I swear."

With little time to ponder her request, Fitz follows her instructions, forcing the little drone to fly as fast as it can back toward the portal. Though he keeps the camera focused on Jemma, he continually scans the background for evidence of whatever is apparently chasing her. She and Bashful are about a mile from the portal when the hulking figure comes into view. Though its steps are slower than Jemma's frantic pace, it's gaining on her position rapidly. Running quick calculations through his head, Fitz begins to realize that she may not be able to out run it.

Taking her assertion to heart, he pushes the little drone past its thresholds and sees Jemma find some reserve of energy to reach a new pace. She can hear the footfalls growing closer and she prays that she is near the monolith. There is no cover on this part of the planet. If she doesn't reach the portal before the figure reaches her, she will have no place to hide. This is her final stand, and she is determined to succeed. She has entirely too much to lose if she doesn't.

With the figure only a hundred meters or so behind her, she breaks into a sprint when the wriggling monolith comes into view. She flies across the desolate plane, desperate to reach her salvation now that it is so close at hand.

The team watches in horror as the figure also finds a new speed and comes ever closer to their fleeing teammate. Jemma's heart feels like it may fly out of her chest, but she keeps sprinting toward her goal, though the steps of the hulking being following her begin to rattle the ground. With only one hundred meters left, she fights for every step as her vision begins to grey out. She's not built to maintain this pace for so long. She doesn't have the stamina or the reserves. Regardless of her will, her body cannot cope with the strain and she begins to slow, though she is still running faster than any of them ever knew she could.

She barely sees the rover and second drone as she makes a mad dash for the gateway. Just before she reaches the pulsating mass, her pursuer manages to brush against her trailing leg. The second DWARF captures her look of utter terror as she stumbles inches from her goal. The expression is an almost exact replica of the one she wore months ago when this nightmare began, and the image remains frozen on the tablet display as the video feed finally cuts out completely.

* * *

A/N: I'll try to get the final chapter out tomorrow, but it may be Monday before I can finish it. I do plan to complete this story before next week's episode.


	4. Open Arms

A/N: Fitz and Simmons have their long awaited reunion, but there are still a few trials to face even now.

* * *

Chapter 4: Open Arms

* * *

The minute Jemma begins sprinting toward the twin monolith, Fitz takes off toward the storage room containing its counterpart. One of Coulson's stipulations had been to control this final attempt from the safety of one of the other bunkers. Sensing that he wouldn't get anywhere if he argued anyway, Fitz had quickly relented even though he wanted to be in the room at all times. Coulson did have a point. If something went wrong, it would be better for all of them to be as far away from the stone as possible.

Although Fitz had doubted it more than once given the director's actions, Coulson would have been the first to admit that he wanted Simmons back as much as any of them if asked. She was usually the most even-tempered and honest of his agents, and he has missed her sincerity and blinding smile in the months since her disappearance. Still, he couldn't in good conscience risk what remained of their team on the slight possibility that this final attempt could find her, and he knows she would understand his choice if she were there.

Now that he's found Jemma and she might actually be able to return to them, Fitz doesn't care what the director thinks about being close to the monolith. Tearing down the hallway with his team trailing behind, her enters the room and splits his attention between the tablet display and the gyrating alien material. He waits desperately for her to reach the portal on her end, and his heat begins beating wildly as the figure grows closer and closer to her. When it throws her off balance, he can do nothing but yelp out a powerless denial as the universe once again positions itself to tear them apart just when they might finally find their way back together.

* * *

Light years away from her distraught teammates, Simmons refuses to have survived so much and to have come so far to let her chance at freedom slip away now. With what little remains of her strength she thrusts the balls of her feet into the ashen ground and vaults into the flowing material, her would-be captor barely failing to grasp her limb as she disappears into the void, though his touch does send searing pain through her leg.

The two drones follow after her in quick succession, but the rover suffers the displeasure of the figure, which cannot enter the mass to follow its quarry. Its purpose is to guard this world and destroy whatever emerges, not to follow the portal back. Stripped of its long-awaited victory, it tears the rover to shreds before marching calmly back into position and returning to its form as a stony sentinel to await the next arrival. Next time whatever materializes will not escape.

* * *

With little idea of how long the delay might be between the images he sees and her reality and no way of knowing how long it might take to transport her back to this room if she does manage to escape, Fitz waits in tense silence, one hand reaching toward the monolith as though that gesture can will her back.

Fortunately for his shocked system and overstressed mind, the wait is almost nonexistent. Less than 10 seconds after her terrorized face freezes on the display, Jemma's momentum carries her through the portal and back into the base where she hurtles into Fitz. The force knocks the tablets from his hand, and they crash onto the floor in a tangle of limbs and heaving chests.

Just after they hit the ground, the two DWARFs also fly through the portal, but unlike their creators they come to rest gently on the floor due to their meticulous programming. Completely unconcerned about whether or not the rover Fitz had built will follow, Mack keys in the sequence to return the monolith to its solid state, and he takes great pleasure in once again closing and locking the container. Now that Simmons is back, they shouldn't need to tempt fate by ever interacting directly with this accursed stone again.

The room is quiet save for the labored breathing of the two people sprawled across the floor. Stunned into silence by the startling arrival of a teammate they all genuinely though was dead and lost forever, the team makes no motion to separate their prone bodies.

Confronted with the truth of Simmons's continued existence, they feel nearly overwhelmed with shame. While Fitz had risked life and limb to rescue her, they had pitied him and made no secret of their doubt of his sanity. No matter what Jemma had meant to them or done for them, they had effectively written her off after only a few fleeting weeks. Regardless of what Fitz said or how often he'd been right, they had ignored his increasingly impassioned pleas, preferring to believe Simmons was dead than to join him in suffering with the belief she was alive but they were incapable of finding her.

They hadn't been strong enough to weather that emotional turmoil, but he had for her sake. He had borne it all with steadfast determination and unwavering belief in both her continued existence and his ability to find her while they returned to their lives as if her loss had no effect on them. Quietly, each plans to make amends for their lack of faith in the both of them. Some team they turned out to be.

* * *

At first, Fitz and Simmons are too stunned by their unexpectedly rapid and painful reunion to do more than lie there as they try to regain the breath that has been knocked out of them. When they come back to themselves almost simultaneously, Jemma latches onto Fitz with a death grip and proceeds to burst into nearly hysterical sobbing as she buries face into his shoulder.

Her touch-starved body craves human contact. That the contact is with him is even more meaningful and restorative. Deprived of interaction with any living thing other than whatever was trying to kill her, she had begun to question the reality of her being. Without touch, she felt dissociated from her body. But now, with the length of her plastered to the length of him, with their breaths synchronizing and their hearts once again beating in tandem, she knows without question that she is real and she is here in his arms. Determined to remain in the warmth of his sheltering embrace for as long as possible, she wraps her weary arms tighter about him.

When he feels her tears running down his neck, he runs a shaking hand through her matted hair. He can feel the stiffness of her clothing and the grainy layer of dust covering her skin, but he can't bring himself to care. She could be covered in the most repulsive substance he'd ever seen her examine in the lab and he would do nothing except clutch her tighter. He's been imagining this moment for months, and it's everything he'd hoped for and more. She's here in his arms, alive and coherent enough to hold on to him. Even though she is clearly injured and shaken, this is one of the best-case scenarios he hoped to face. Physical and mental wounds can only heal if the person is alive. No matter how long her recovery might take or what it might involve, he'll be there every step of the way in whatever capacity she needs. For now, all she apparently needs is for him to continue holding her and he's happy to oblige.

Sensing that she is in no shape or hurry to move, he uses his now sturdier build—the result of all his effort and adventures to get her back—to shuffle them into a more upright position. He levers her to one side to shift her weight onto her left hip so her legs can curl together underneath his bent right knee. This way, he can support most of her body as she curls more comfortably on one side of his chest. Once she settles, he brackets her body with his limbs, hoping that she'll find the shelter of his form comforting.

* * *

Huddled in his arms, she realizes that she finally understands why he made his confession at the bottom of the ocean. Faced with the certainty that they would be lost to each other forever, he had laid his soul bare so that she would know the depth of his feelings for her and the place she held in his heart. He hadn't said those words to surprise or confuse her. Expecting no response, he didn't consider how she might interpret them with only seconds to infer meaning. He had shakily confessed his feelings in that way because the words represented the fundamental truth of his being. There at what seemed to be the end of all things, his final thoughts were not for himself or his imminent death, but for her and how much loving her had meant to him. Having just faced her own probable demise, she too had stared down death only with thoughts of her love for him.

When she finally regains enough control to speak, she begins repeating, "I love you. I love you. I love you," into his neck. The others can hear her, but she says the words only for him. With all that has happened in the past year, she knows now that every moment is precious and not to be wasted. She refuses to allow another minute to pass without Fitz knowing that she finally understands what he has known for so long and embraced with open arms. Though their scientific minds would normally shy away from such nonsense, they _are_ soul mates in every sense of the word. They belong to each other and with each other. They will never be better separated than they are together. They are two halves of one soul.

In response to her tearful and open confession, he grips her tighter, his own tears of relief and happiness mingling with hers. In all his wildest imaginations, this had never been part of their reunion, but he's grateful and elated by the surprise.

"I love you, too" he whispers back, feeling her smile against his neck. The last knot in his chest finally loosens. They will get through this and anything else the universe throws at them because there is nothing they can't face and overcome together.

Their joyous reunion comes to a screeching halt, however, once several of their teammates shake off their guilt and jump back into action.

* * *

Despite the pain it causes in her still recovering knee, Bobbi crouches down next to the intertwined pair and strokes a careful hand down Simmons's back, mindful that there may be injuries she can't see in addition to the ones that are already concerning her. Jemma is far too thin and her skin is a patchwork of bruises under the layer of grime covering her entire body. Bobbi knows her younger teammate will feel much better once she has access to a shower and the medical care she so desperately needs.

"Simmons, we need to get you to one of the quarantine rooms and treat your wounds. Do you think you can stand?"

Bobbi's tone is gentle and she thinks only of Simmons's comfort and wellbeing, but Jemma reacts as if she has been threatened. Quarantine means separation. Separation means letting go of Fitz, and letting go of Fitz might mean this has all been a dream. She isn't ready to let go. She won't. Whimpering in response to the perceived threat, she grips Fitz tighter.

Sensing that Bobbi isn't likely to get anywhere with their clearly distressed colleague, Mack tries to appeal to Fitz's sense of logic, though he needn't have tried. As they used for the majority of their relationship with each other, Fitz's thoughts mimic Jemma's.

"Come on, Turbo. You know the procedure. Until Bobbi clears her, she has to go into quarantine. It's for her sake just as much for ours. She'll be in the best hands. Bobbi won't let anything happen to her."

As gently as he can, Mack tugs on Fitz's arm in an attempt to loosen his hold and prompt his friend into helping them. If Fitz cooperates, Simmons will as well. But Fitz has no intention of cooperating. At this point, letting go of Jemma will feel like loping off one of his limbs. She is an integral part of him, and now that he has been reunited with that part, he is in no hurry to be separated from it again.

A quiet but growling "bugger off" is his only response as he shrugs away from Mack's hand and pulls Jemma closer still.

"Fitz," Bobbi admonishes lightly. "Look at her. She's covered in injuries and she's going to go into shock sooner or later. I think we'd all feel better if that happens somewhere that I can actually do something about it rather than here. She's suffered enough."

In any other circumstance, Jemma would be quite offended by Bobbi speaking as if she can't hear her, but in this moment, her words are nothing more than an irritating buzzing in her ears. She knows Bobbi has a point, but she is also aware that none of her injuries are life-threatening enough to warrant moving her in the next few minutes. She too has the necessary education and experience to effectively and accurately assess the severity of a person's injuries, even if that person happens to be her. Surely the team can allow her and Fitz a little while longer to simply rest here and breathe. She isn't actually causing any more potential harm here on the floor than she would be in a quarantine room. Using her own perhaps faulty logic as her guide, Jemma chooses to ignore Bobbi's reasoning in favor of the comfort she finds in Fitz's hold. She's in no hurry to be poked and prodded or separated from him.

Frustrated with the lack of response from either of his teammates, Mack redoubles his efforts. He is convinced that Fitz is too caught up in the heady euphoria of having Simmons back to think clearly, and he knows Fitz will be upset later once he realizes that he prevented Simmons from receiving the care she needed. Mack would much rather have Fitz upset with him now than watch him descend into another round of self-flagellation later.

"Seriously, Fitz. She needs to be in quarantine. We can't help her with the two of you fused together like this. I know you want what's best for her, so help me out, man." Tugging harder, he manages to extract one of Fitz arms, and Jemma feels the loss immediately.

Reaching the end of what little patience he has for any of them, Fitz shouts at Mack as he struggles against his hold: "Then put me in the bloody quarantine room with her. I'm not letting her go!"

He and Mack play what might otherwise be a comical game of tug-a-war until Jemma releases a second louder and more painful whimper. The fear and distress evident in that one desolate sound finally put an end to further arguments. Bobbi and Mack resign themselves to the fact that FitzSimmons aren't going to move from this spot until they are good and ready, and even once they do they won't stand to be separated from each other, protocol be damned.

* * *

It doesn't take nearly as long as they feared for Fitz to coax Jemma into un-tucking herself from his body. Despite what Bobbi might think, he isn't oblivious to her condition. It's clear that she is malnourished and extremely dehydrated. What he knows that Bobbi apparently doesn't is that Jemma is exceedingly tactile when she's upset or ill, but only with a select group of people. She needs constant contact with someone she trusts when she feels compromised in anyway. Trying to pull them apart was possibly the worst tactic anyone could have taken.

He calms her frayed nerves with soothing words and gentle strokes up and down her spine. He'll worry later about why he can feel each and every one of her vertebrae so clearly. For now, it's enough that she relaxes her hold little by little and eventually pulls back far enough to look into his eyes.

Staring into the icy blue of his gaze, she finally believes she is home. Her hallucinations of him had always been faded, as if the overwhelmingly grey world that had become her prison had bled the color from every aspect of her life, real or imagined. Now that she can bask in the vibrant azure of his eyes, the color she most associates with comfort and security, she manages a tentative smile and reaches out to cup his check. When she wipes his tears away, all she ends up doing is smearing dirt across his face, but he doesn't care. He knows in this moment that eventually they will both be okay.

Tangling their fingers together to give them both a clear point of contact, he shifts slightly backwards before asking, "Do you think you can stand?"

He doubts sincerely that she has the strength left, but he also knows that she is stubborn to a fault and will raise hell if doesn't at least present her with the option.

She aches in places that even she can't name, but holding his hand and looking into his eyes after months of isolation and fear makes her believe she can do anything at the moment.

"I'll try," she responds quietly. Words are still difficult for her to manage, and she's in no hurry to complicate the understanding they appear to have reached by adding more than necessary.

With his help, she manages to stand without issue, but the moment she attempts to take a step, the parting injury from the figure flares uncomfortably and her leg buckles. She's more than a little surprised when he not only catches her from falling, but also manages to hoist her up into a bridal carry without much effort. Of course, the fact that she weighs considerably less than she should even with the muscle she's managed to build is probably helping. Still, he brawnier than she remembers, and she takes comfort in knowing that he is willing and able to support her both literally and figuratively.

* * *

Without so much as a stumble, he whisks her easily down the hall and into one of the unoccupied containment rooms designed for the new Inhumans. He may be relieved to have her back, but he is also aware enough to realize that she has spent months on an alien planet and they will all probably be safer if she and he remain in one of these specially designed rooms until she passes the battery of tests he knows Bobbi wants to run. The planet may have affected her in ways they can't imagine, and he doesn't want to risk her health by ignoring too much protocol. Those procedures are in place for a reason. He also refuses to subject her to the kind of quarantine Daisy experienced. They have better facilities now, and if anyone deserves to have the best it's Jemma.

Of course, other more practical considerations—like her need to bathe and the room's ability to run the basic series of medical examinations without direct human interaction—also influence his decision. She hadn't reacted adversely to Bobbi's touch back in the storage room, but Fitz does not expect Jemma to display that level of placidity for long. Right now adrenaline, exhaustion, and lingering fear are very likely dulling her responses. Under normal circumstances, she is a holy terror when she has to be a patient. Having been her primary caretaker for the few times she became ill since their friendship began, he knows well that none of their teammates are truly prepared to handle her.

Of course, the ultimate driving force behind his actions aren't really about their safety or even her almost guaranteed adverse reaction to being subjected to examinations. If he is really being honest with himself, he just wants to have at least an hour or so where they can remain wrapped in the little cocoon they've created without interference from anyone else. He needs time to process that she is back, and he imagines she does as well. He breathes an audible sigh of relief when he hears the door close behind him, effectively cordoning them off from anything and everything at least for the time being.

* * *

Safely ensconced in his arms, she completely understands the sentiment. She knows the rest of their team has only the best intentions, but for now all she really needs and wants is Fitz. She'll make time for them, but later, after she has reconciled her new existence with the threat she still feels lurking around each corner. One cannot spend months in a constant state of terror without becoming more than a bit paranoid.

She isn't surprised in the least when he carries her immediately to the attached bathroom and sets her down on the edge of tub. She is desperate to be clean for the first time in months, and she appreciates that he knows her well enough to bring her here first.

During her exile, she had never had enough water to spare to do anything even as simple as washing her face much less to bathe properly. When she first presses the damp cloth against her cheek, she can't help but release a little moan of pleasure. She vows never again to take even the most basic creature comforts for granted.

When it's clear that she is so covered in dirt and grime that they will need to spend the better part of twenty minutes merely rinsing out the washcloth if she ever hopes to see the true color of her skin again, she struggles back to her feet and wobbles over to the sink. He simply places his hands on her hips to steady her as she leans over to splash and rub the clean water pouring from the faucet on her face until it is finally clean. When she stands, she immediately recognizes that while the action has left her feeling slightly less like a walking dust bowl, it was ultimately in vain. Chalky grey rivulets of water streak down her face from her hairline, effectively negating her efforts.

"That was useless, wasn't it?" she asks quietly though without expecting an answer. He can see as well as she can.

"Mmmm," he hums in agreement before suggesting, "You might try your luck at the shower if you think you can manage it."

She considers her options for a moment. The bath will be easier on her tired limbs, but she can't even attempt to guess the number of times she will need to change the water before she knows she'll be clean. The shower will probably require her to use what little remains of her strength, but it's clearly the more expedient and sanitary option. The sooner she is clean the better.

With his hands still on her hips and his eyes meeting hers in the mirror, she is reluctant to ask him to remain in the room while she completes her ablutions, but she'll feel even more vulnerable and uneasy if he leaves.

"You'll stay?" she questions shyly, lowering her eyes from the intensity of his gaze.

"Of course," he answers with far more ease than he feels. He's secretly thankful that she asks him to remain with her, not because he wants to take advantage of the situation or of her, but rather because he isn't sure that he can be more than a few feet from her even now. The thought of being separated makes him panicky. "I'll just sit right there, yeah?" he motions to the corner of the room nearest the shower. He won't be in her way, but he will be close enough to help her if she needs it.

She leans back into him, grateful for his solid and warm presence and easy acceptance of her needs. Soon enough they break apart. As he settles on the floor, keeping his gaze firmly at her feet, she begins to strip off her ruined clothing. She should probably feel more self-conscious stripping bare in the same room as him, but she doesn't. Having firmly placed her heart in his hands, she knows that she can trust him with every aspect of her being, including this, especially as he keeps up a steady stream of meaningless chatter to help remind the both of them that they have beaten the odds and are finally back together.

His voice takes on a slightly nervous pitch once she disappears from view, so she makes sure to respond every so often to reassure him that she is still there. Now that he is no longer touching her and out of sight, the only thing keeping her calm is the continuous sound of his voice. She imagines he probably feels the same way.

Her joints ache terribly as she moves into the stall, but she lets out a sigh of relief as the jets of warm water come into contact with her body. At first, she simply watches as the slate-colored streams run down her legs and into the drain. Then, once the water has finally warmed her through, she begins the arduous task of cleaning every inch of herself, beginning with her wildly disheveled hair. She's nearly at the point of collapse when she finally finishes, and her efforts have exposed more wounds than she realized she had, including what looks to be a burn on her leg from her pursuer. Still, she feels almost like herself again, and that is no small feat.

* * *

He's ready with a large, fluffy towel when she opens the curtain, and she's a little amused at the hint of a blush staining his cheeks as he stares at the ceiling. Only once she is swathed in the soft cotton does he return his focus to her face. Her eyes are a bit sunken in the sockets and she's entirely too pale for his liking, but she finally looks like herself again. He leans forward to place a soft kiss against her forehead, but she pulls back and grimaces.

Immediately noticing the hurt her rejection has caused, she tries to explain: "You might want to jump in, too."

Glancing quickly back at the mirror, he notices that she's correct. He'd only had eyes for her before, but now that he is focused on himself he realizes that holding her close for so long has left him very much in need of a shower as well, and he understands her reluctance to be touched now that she is finally clean again. As he moves to remove his soiled garments, she settles just to the side of the spot he has recently vacated and begins to fill the silence with her chatter, though at a much slower pace. She's struggling to find words that would have once come so easily to her, but he seems to appreciate the effort all the same. He needs far less time to cleanse himself and wrap his body in the second towel he had the presence of mind to throw over the rod before entering the shower.

Again, he pulls her prone form from the floor and supports her weight until she is steady on her feet. They slowly reenter the main space, and Fitz is grateful when he notices that someone has brought them each clothes. He grabs both sets before carefully leading her behind the small partition designed to give the inhabitants of these rooms some sense of privacy while dressing.

She'll have to change into a standard medical gown when Bobbi comes to treat her wounds, but for now Jemma is happy to pull on a set of basic scrubs. The loose, clean material feels like heaven against her skin. Fitz, it seems, is relegated to the same sartorial options even though he isn't injured. They may look a bit comical in their matching borrowed clothing, but she doesn't have it in her to care at the moment. She is home, and clean, and with him. If she could just get a cup of tea, all would be right in her world in this moment.

As if reading her thoughts, he speaks, "I'll see if Daisy will bring us some tea after the room runs some initial tests on you. I could definitely use a cuppa, and I bet you could too."

Jemma is more than a little impressed by what they've managed to build in her absence, and she wonders why such advanced quarantine rooms are necessary, but she knows that explanation can wait. If this room is capable of conducting even some of the tests she knows she needs, she'll be thankful for the reprieve from having to interact with anyone else.

She only gets part of her wish once it becomes apparent that Bobbi still has to provide some direction from the lab. With the air of someone both supremely bored and barely able to restrain their irritation, Jemma moves her limbs as instructed for several scans and places her hand into various sections of the wall so automated systems can collect tissue and blood samples.

Throughout the entire process, however, she does not speak. She doesn't feel up to conversation with anyone but Fitz, and honestly what would she say? Though she knows her motives were pure, Bobbi had tried to separate her from Fitz just when they had found each other again. Her distrust and irritation might be mostly irrational, but Jemma doesn't feel like talking herself out of them at the moment. Considering where she has been for months and what she has been though, she feels justified in being a bit irrational, at least for today. Tomorrow, she'll do her best to remember that she is part of the team and act accordingly.

* * *

As they wait for the results of the first round of tests, they curl up together on one of the two beds in the room despite its narrowness. In this moment, they simply take comfort in each other's presence. Their bodies don't fit together they way they used to during movie nights at the Academy and Sci-Ops. They have both simultaneously filled out and become leaner, but somehow they fit together better now than they ever did then. When Fitz presses his lips to hers in a soft kiss, the jagged pieces of their souls that have threatened to tear them to shreds for more than a year finally align and fuse back together to form one unblemished whole even stronger than the one their experiences and misunderstandings had shattered.

Though they try to avoid sleep, each convinced that when they wake this will all have been a dream, their bodies quickly succumb to the exhaustion that has been their constant companion since her disappearance. Even as they finally get the first peaceful rest either of them has had in months and their limbs lose some of the still lingering tension, they do not break away from each other. If anything, the longer they sleep, the closer they gravitate, as if through enough effort and time they can merge both their hearts and bodies to reflect what their souls already feel.

* * *

The End.

* * *

A/N: This chapter totally got away from me. I honestly could have kept going and I probably should have left out some of the detail here, but I think the ending works for the reaction/continuation fic this was meant to be. I didn't want to keep speculating considering the next episode airs tomorrow, but I also didn't want it to end once she get out of the portal since that seemed a little too brief considering the development and cliffhangers present in the other chapters. I think they will both be reluctant to be separated once she returns, and think Jemma will be a bit shaky and unused to being around people for a while.

Anyway, I hope you've all enjoyed this idea of what I hope happens. I am sure whatever we see will be much more complicated and far-reaching in terms of its impact on the rest of the season, but wouldn't it be nice if we could just get these two together already without any more drama?

Thanks for taking the time to read, leave kudos, and comment. I really appreciate your support and encouragement.


End file.
